Christmas in TARDIS Blue
by fhestia
Summary: The TARDIS breaks down and the Doctor is stranded in Clara's flat during the holiday season. The Doctor is bored, Clara is depressed and trying to liven things up just makes it worse. A series of short (500 to 1000 words) Christmas-themed chapters, one chapter posted per day through December 24th. A little something for everyone: humor, hurt/comfort, mild angst.
1. Stranded

Clara stood silently at the balcony window of her flat, eyes taking in the city below without really registering any of the details. She knew somewhere down there people were shopping and meeting friends and attending parties and enjoying the holiday cheer but she felt cut off from it all. Cold, mirthless, a little numb. Not even the very familiar sound of the TARDIS appearing behind her made her turn around.

She waited, unmoving, only her hair billowing in the sudden rush of air, waiting for the final landing thump. Instead there came a bucking, shuddering sound like an old car whose carburetor was going south. She whirled at that, holding her breath as the TARDIS cycled through materialization and dematerialization a number of times until it settled with a final creaking shudder. She watched the doors, senses on alert, not sure if she should approach or dive for safety. After a long moment, the door opened slowly and the Doctor poked his head out, a cloud of steam billowing out around him.

"Clara," he said in greeting, his shaking voice ruining his air of nonchalance. He ran a hand over his face, leaving a smear of dirt or grease across one cheek.

She opened her mouth to reply but made a move for him instead as he stumbled forward suddenly, as if propelled, nearly falling headlong into the couch. The door of the TARDIS slammed shut behind him.

"Oh, dear." Clara said. "Did the two of you have words?"

* * *

><p>Clara sat close to the Doctor on the couch, clutching a pillow to her chest, an untouched cup of tea sitting nearby.<p>

"After my mum, well….it wasn't the same," Clara said, her voice sounding gulpy from unshed tears. "My dad tried his best and my Gran did what she could but I could see the pity all over their faces for the poor motherless child." She wiped her face with the heels of her hands. "They'd always attempt these big spectacular events to cheer me up. You know, give Clara something wonderful to remember. So we'd go ice skating at Broadgate or see some horrible endless panto and someone would chuck a tantrum or cry or be sick everywhere or sometimes all three and it wasn't always me."

She tossed the pillow aside and leaned over to grab a tissue from the box on the table. She blew her nose and laughed. "Sorry, this is supposed to be a cheerful time of year and I always end up maudlin and weepy instead."

"I can see why," the Doctor said. "It sounds horrible, Clara. I wish I could take you away from it all, but," he threw his hands out in a gesture of resignation, taking in the quiet and darkened TARDIS nearby, still slowly billowing steam.

"I'll be okay," she said. "Everything is just so relentlessly festive this time of year. Makes me feel even more depressed in comparison."

"I've always found Christmas to be a rather odd human tradition. People singing about peace on earth and joy and love while they're rushing around, shouting at one another and looking as grumpy as I usually feel."

Clara nodded, retrieving her cup of tea and cradling it in her hands for the warmth. "So you're really stuck here?" she asked, taking a tentative sip.

"I am really stuck here, yes," he said, leaning his head against the back of the couch. He thought for a moment and then turned his head to look at her. "I mean, in a sense. I could always hop a bus and go away somewhere, but chances are I won't. I'll stick close until the TARDIS decides her self-repair cycle is complete."

He stood in one quick motion, nearly upsetting Clara's teacup.

"Between you and me," he said as he paced around her sitting room, "I think she's being lazy."

There was the sudden loud sound of the TARDIS door lock being thrown.

"Uh-oh," Clara said. "Don't think she liked that, Doctor."

"She wasn't supposed to hear it," he said. "And that's probably good for another few days of down time." He paused in his circuit at the balcony door, running both hands through his hair in frustration.

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know." He began pacing again. Clara considered grabbing him and forcing him to sit still. If he had to stay in her flat for the duration, they were both going to lose their minds.

"I don't have anything on this year, either," she said. "Dad and his wife are off on a trip to Suffolk to see her family and Gran is going on a cruise with her friends; Denmark, I think."

The Doctor flopped on the couch next to her. "And P.E.?"

Clara sighed. "He's spending it at the home where he grew up. You know, big Christmas dinner, passing out gifts for the kiddies. He invited me to come along, but…"

"You couldn't face it."

"I couldn't face it," she agreed, fingers idly twisting the fabric of her skirt. "Is that terrible of me? It makes Danny happy to help out the kids because he knows what they're going through but it just makes me feel worse. A reminder of all the suffering in the world, you know? And what can we honestly do to change it?"

"Clara Oswald," the Doctor said. "You are positively morose. We need to do something."

"I know. What did you have in mind?"

"Well, what do you usually do at Christmas? Are you going to go caroling, or drink wassail or have a figgy pudding?"

Clara laughed. "Nope, and I'm not burning a Yule log, either, Doctor. I've never done any of that in my life. I don't even know what wassail is, although if it involves alcohol of any kind, I may consider it."

She stood, carrying their cups through to the kitchen. He followed and joined her at the sink.

"I think you may have gotten your idea of Christmas traditions from old songs," she said.

"Don't be ridiculous, Clara. I've celebrated Christmas before and I know how it works." He ticked off the points on his fingers. "You complain, you eat too much, you drink too much, old resentments are dragged out, it's all perfectly dull and everyone is secretly relieved when it's all over for another year."

Clara paused in washing the cups, considering. "Pretty much, yeah."

"So, let's try something different."

**A/N: I couldn't not write a Christmas story for my favorite pair, forgive me. Hope you enjoy the pointless holiday fluff headed your way and try not to be too stressed preparing for the upcoming holidays.**


	2. Caroling

"Tell me about caroling." The Doctor dried the last cup, replaced it in the cabinet and then turned to lean against the counter, throwing the tea towel over his shoulder.

"Not much to it," Clara said. "You get a group of people together and go door-to-door, singing Christmas songs and spreading holiday cheer. That's the idea, at least."

He crossed his arms, raising one doubtful eyebrow. "People don't threaten you? Or try to chase you from their homes?"

"I suppose it's possible," she said. "But I've only ever gone caroling once, when I was at university. We went around from pub to pub, singing for drinks."

She stopped herself before telling him that by the end of the evening she and her mates were holding each other upright as their renditions of familiar Christmas songs grew more bawdy and depraved and that most of the evening was still mercifully a complete blur when she tried to recall it.

"Anyway," she said, her gaze coming back into focus as the memories faded. "I'm willing to give it another go if you are. So, let's hear you sing."

"Me?"

"I've only ever heard you sing once or twice and that was before…" Clara waved her hand vaguely to indicate all of their time together before this latest regeneration. "But I'm not sure what your voice sounds like now. If I'm going to tromp around caroling with you I have to make sure you're not going to embarrass me."

"Well, what would you like me to sing?"

"A Christmas carol, obviously. Do you know any?"

He pursed his lips in thought. "I think I remember part of 'God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen.'"

She sighed. "One carol. That's all you remember? Won't take us long, then."

"It's not like I'm called upon to sing carols that often, Clara." He cleared his throat, took a deep breath and then stopped, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Are you going to stare at me like that?"

"I'll turn around," she said, facing the other way and bending down to run a finger over a row of cookbooks on the counter. "Wanted to look up a recipe, anyway." She glanced over her shoulder when he remained silent. "Any time, Doctor."

As she listened, she couldn't resist sneaking looks at him and after a few minutes, gave up the pretense and faced him as he struggled through the song. She tried to keep a very serious expression on her face but could feel her lips twitching with poorly-contained mirth. She finally gave herself over, dropping her head into her hands and snorting with laughter.

"Your face," she managed to splutter out between her fingers. "Oh my god, you should see your face. You're frowning _so hard_."

"I'm concentrating, Clara," he said, with obviously wounded pride. "Trying to remember the words."

"But you're making it sound like "God rest ye merry" is a euphemism for something very rude you'd like those gentlemen to do to themselves."

He muttered something Clara couldn't make out.

"And sorry to say, your voice is all wrong for caroling." She plucked a cookbook at random from the stack and flipped to the index.

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's just not very festive," she explained, running one finger down the page. She paused and looked up at him. "It's all growly. You sound like you should be singing in some smoky piano lounge somewhere. Can't have you frightening young children and pensioners, can we?"

"I suppose not," he said grudgingly. "So caroling is out?"

"I'm afraid so," she said. "Besides, you're locked out of the TARDIS and you're not wearing a coat. Don't want you catching cold for Christmas. But the pub to pub thing still sounds good. We'll keep it in mind."


	3. Church

"Well, that's the problem," Clara said as they walked along the slush-covered sidewalk side by side, "You don't light figgy pudding, you steam it."

"Sorry, got my ancient puddings mixed up." The Doctor crumpled his polystyrene cup and tossed it in a bin without breaking stride, looking entirely too satisfied with himself for Clara's liking. "The mince pies were nicer anyway," he said, patting his pocket. "I think there's one left if you want it."

"Two's good for me, thanks." She attempted a similar throw with her own coffee cup and missed. She sighed and stooped to pick it up, glancing over at him as she dropped the cup in the bin.

"That overcoat really suits you," she said. The doubled-breasted wool paletot fit his slender frame nicely, cinched in slightly at the waist, sleeves extending well past his wrists.

He looked down at himself, frowning slightly, as if he'd forgotten he was wearing it. "You think so?"

She nodded. "You look very handsome. Is it warm?"

"Warm enough," he said, tucking his hands into the pockets. "Smells a bit of stale cigarettes, though."

"Hmm," Clara said. "Charity shops. Not surprising."

She stepped close, grasped a wide lapel and brought it close to her nose. There was a faint and not altogether unpleasant hint of smoke in the fibers. She smoothed the material with her fingers, brushing a few stray crumbs away, enjoying their proximity for the few minutes he would allow it. He was already looking in the other direction, shoulders tightening, body turning from her. Clara gave him a final affectionate pat, her gaze going over his shoulder to the sturdy stone building across the street.

"What are you looking at?"

"St. Winifred's, I think," Clara said, taking a few steps in its direction. Something inexplicable was drawing her in. "I know this might sound silly," she said, glancing back toward him. "But would you mind if we went inside for a few minutes?"

The Doctor rested one hand on the small of Clara's back as he guided her through the entrance. All of the outside clamor fell away as the heavy wooden door closed behind them. The dimly-lit interior revealed only a few people, sitting silently except for the gentle click of beads and the murmur of voices. They moved up the side aisle to stand in front of a manger scene that took up most of the transept. Clara was the first to break the silence.

"Why does Joseph always look like he has indigestion?" she whispered, imitating the hand-on-chest pose.

"Perhaps he does. Imagine your betrothed suddenly falling pregnant and you find out it's God's son. I think I'd have indigestion too."

"Good point." She placed a hand on his elbow, gently guiding him toward a bank of gently flickering votives surrounded with greenery. She dropped a coin in the offering box and picked up a thin taper.

"What are you doing?" he asked in a low voice.

"Lighting a candle," she said. "For my mum."

"Your mother is gone, Clara."

"I know that." Her eyes never left the dancing flame as she spoke quietly. "You probably don't understand, Doctor, but when someone you love dies, you hear all the platitudes: _She's in a better place, she'll always be a part of you, now you have an angel looking over you._ But you don't believe any of it. You just feel the grief and the loss and more than anything, you want that person back." She took a deep breath. "The candle is just a remembrance. To remind myself of how much I loved my mum and how much I miss her."

She heard him swallow and pretended to look up at the statue of St. Therese as she studied his face. She'd known him long enough now, could recognize grief on him, always quiet and contained, only his eyes and his voice betraying his emotion. He reached for a taper and Clara tried not to notice his hand trembling as she helped him light his own candle.

"It's such a tiny light against so much darkness," she said. "But it's something to hang on to when you feel lost."

He reached for her hand without a word and Clara squeezed it tightly. "Do you want to sit for a while?" she asked.

He features were soft in the warm glow of light as he shook his head. "I'm going to go look at the creche again," he said.

She watched his progress up the side aisle. The Doctor walked slowly, keeping his hands to himself for once, thank goodness for small favors. He stood unmoving in front of the scene for a moment and then tried to ease discreetly around the back of it. A sudden loud clang made the little old ladies start upright in their seats and begin talking amongst themselves in hushed voices.

Clara sighed. "Time to get you out of here," she muttered as she joined him at the front. When she reached him, he was bent nearly double, eyes wide and frightened, pulling at the scarf around his neck.

"Doctor, what's wrong?"

"Poison gas," he choked out. ""We need to warn the others."

"Poison…?" She took a deep sniff of the air and then laughed. "It's incense," she said. "That loud noise must have been you kicking over the censer."

She linked her arm through his and he stumbled along after her as they made their way out of the church. Clara smiled politely and nodded at the concerned glances that followed them. Once outside, she led him around the corner of the building where he slumped against the side wall, wheezing and trying to catch his breath. She unwound the length of dark blue cloth from around his neck and stuffed the scarf in her purse.

"Feeling better?" she asked, patting him on the back.

The Doctor coughed into his sleeve. "What did you say it was again?"

"Incense. You know." She mimed swinging a censer by its chain. "They use it during the Mass sometimes. Has kind of a strong smell if you're not used to it."

"Why would they use that...for punishment?"

Clara crossed her arms and leaned against the wall beside him. "Why were you trying to get behind the creche, anyway?"

"One of the wise men reminded me of someone I used to know." He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubbed them hard.

"You look like you could do with a drink."

"That depends," he said, his voice rough and hoarse. "Will I have to sing?"

"Nah, drinks are on me," Clara said. "Come on."


	4. Shooters

"I'm sorry you had to leave your new friends," Clara said, nearly running to keep up with the Doctor's long strides as they headed back to her flat.

He waved his hand in her direction while continuing to walk, humming loudly and tunelessly. "Don't worry 'bout it," he called back to her.

"Doctor, stop for a minute, you need to put your coat on. It's freezing out here."

She held the overcoat out for him, eyes widening as he turned and his feet started skating on a slippery patch. His arms pinwheeled as he tried to regain his balance. Clara couldn't reach him before he went down hard on his knees, nearly bashing his face against the pavement. She sank down next to him, slush quickly soaking through her tights, making her shiver.

"Did you hurt yourself?" she asked breathlessly, using her hands to check him for injuries.

"Nope. Never felt better," he said. He rolled from his hands and knees to his back, a beatific smile wreathing his face as he stared at her. "It was fun tonight, wasn't it? Well, not the figgy pudding part and definitely not the candles and poison gas part, but the rest of it."

"Yeah, lots of fun, Doctor," she said. "You know what else is fun? Not catching pneumonia from lying in the street." She tugged at his arm but he lay as limp and unmovable as a sack of wet cement.

"Everyone else at the pub loved my singing voice," he said in an accusing manner. "Why don't you like my voice?"

"We'll talk about it later," Clara said, trying to leverage her weight against his shoulder to push him upright. "C'mon, help me out."

He sat up abruptly and Clara had to put out one hand to keep from toppling over.

"Everyone loved my stories, too," he said, clambering to his feet, swaying a little as he straightened. He held out a hand for Clara and she hauled herself up.

"I'll be honest, Doctor," she said, bending to brush grit and slush off her knees. " I could barely understand half of what you were saying."

"I couldnae understand me either," he admitted.

"I think maybe you get a little more Scottish when you've had a few."

"Aye, you're right, I do!" he agreed happily. At this, he opened both arms in a theatrical gesture, nearly falling over in the other direction, and threw his head back to yell toward the sky.

"_Then catch the moments as they fly, _

_And use them as ye ought, man!_

_Believe me, happiness is shy, _

_And comes not aye when sought, man!_"

Clara shook her head. "Stop it right there," she said, "Any more Robbie Burns from you and I'll chuck you into an alleyway and leave you." She helped him shrug into his coat and then threw one arm around his waist, doing her best to hold him up. She wasn't quite how she was going to get almost six feet of gangly drunken Time Lord back home in one piece.

They made slow and steady progress with the Doctor only stopping to talk to stray cats and lamp posts along their way.

"Carol!" he said, pulling at her sleeve as they neared her flat. "Let's not go back yet, Carol. Let's sing some…" His brow furrowed in thought as he tried to recall the word. "Let's sing some Claras! Spread a little Christmas cheer, just like you said."

Clara gave him a huge fake smile. "Yes, let's!" she said. "Great idea! But we'll wait until we get to my building, okay?" She hoped by the time they reached her place he'd have forgotten all about singing.

His feet began to drag as they climbed the stairs and by the time they reached her front door, he stood slumped against the wall as he wearily massaged his forehead. At least there would be no caroling.

"Inside." Clara gave him a gentle nudge and he stumbled into the flat without protest. She eased the coat from his shoulders, folding and smoothing it over one arm. "Now let's get you in bed," she said, guiding him toward her room. "You need to sleep it off."

He braced both arms against the doorframe and looked around, nodding his head in approval.

"Oh, I like the spinning effect in here, Carol. Very festive." The Doctor swayed slightly, his wide smile gradually fading to a preoccupied grimace. "You can turn it off now," he said. "Think I've seen enough."

Clara ducked under one arm to study his face closely. As she watched, he paled visibly and she grabbed him, leading him through to the toilet just in time. He dropped to the floor and hung his head over the bowl.

"Don't move," she told him, wetting a cloth at the tap and wringing it out. She kneeled behind him and pressed it to his clammy forehead as he gave a long, painful-sounding heave.

"There, there," she said. "Better now than in the morning, trust me." She wasn't sure how to comfort him exactly and settled for rubbing his back until he'd finished. She draped the cloth across the back of his neck where his hair was beginning to curl damply and helped him sit back against the wall.

He sat with knees nearly up around his ears, head hanging limply. "I don't think I like this Christmas tradition much," he croaked. Clara laughed. He seemed a bit more sober now.

"Well, you were showing off," she said, sitting down next to him. "Trying to keep up with that absolute tosser who was flirting with me all evening."

"He shouldn't have called me Gramps."

"You should have ignored him."

He snagged the cloth from around his neck and pressed it to his eyes. "In hindsight, yes."

Clara patted his knee while he moaned gently, in rhythm with his ragged breathing.

"Stomach settling down yet?"

"Not so you'd notice." He coughed once, holding the cloth to his mouth. Clara scooted herself discreetly out of his way. "What is that smell?" he asked in a strangled voice.

"You mean other than you?"

"No, it's more of an acrid, smoky kind of smell."

"Burnt figgy pudding, I think."

He gulped and lunged for the toilet again. Clara perched on the edge of the bath to wait it out.

"Maybe that last round of Squashed Frogs was a mistake, eh?" she said when he finally slumped over, resting his head against the seat.

"Shut up," he said, his voice rasping in his throat.

"You'll sleep it off." Clara stood and extended a hand toward him. "C'mon, I'll even let you have the bed tonight if you think you're finished being sick."

The Doctor braced himself and tried to stand but sank back to the floor. "Nope, everything's spinning again," he said.

"You Time Lords really can't hold your shooters, can you?"

"I used to be able to," he said. "Seem to have lost the knack this time around."

Clara stood with her arms folded, studying him as he shivered on the floor. She felt almost sorry for the big sodden lump even if he had brought it on himself.

"I'll bring you a pillow and a blanket," she said. "And a glass of water."

When she returned, she dropped the pillow on the floor and set the glass nearby. She picked up the hoodie he'd discarded and the boots he'd kicked off.

"Lie down," she said.

"If there's a stranger in your bath tomorrow, don't be alarmed," he said as he settled his head gingerly against the pillow. "That'll be me. After I regenerate."

"You're not going to regenerate, Doctor," she said, "You might wish you could, but you won't."

"I'll leave a light on in the corridor," she said, floating a light blanket over him and tucking it around his curled form. "Call if you need me."

**A/N: It just wouldn't be one of my stories without an element of hurt/comfort. My thanks to everyone who has followed, favorited and reviewed. I'm having a lot of fun writing this.**


	5. Poundland

"Feeling better?"

The question startled Clara and she took her time answering, slurping up the last bit of strawberry milkshake in her cup, enjoying the childish pleasure of the tiny hoovering sound it made.

"I should be asking you that," she said.

He shrugged and continued playing with his straw, pushing it in and out of the cup lid. He'd only managed a few sips but his color was better, even if he did still look a little bruised around the eyes. At some point in the middle of the night he'd made it to her couch where she'd found him in the morning, pillow covering his face, one foot planted firmly on the floor. He'd been quiet and a little morose since then so she didn't press him for an answer.

"I guess I am," she said, tying the paper straw wrapper into a knot. "Feeling better, I mean. I just feel a little detached from it all. Like Christmas is happening around me but not happening to me." She tossed the bit of paper across the table where it bounced off his hand. "It's nice having you here, though."

His eyes flicked up to hers and one corner of his mouth quirked in a wry grin that disappeared quickly. "Oh yes," he said. "I'm such good company. I've caused you no trouble at all."

Clara laughed and turned her head to stare out the window at passersby rushing about, laden with bags; a young mother trying to steer a pram and corral an older sibling at the same time, an elderly couple holding hands and strolling slowly. She cupped her chin in her hand and sighed.

"I can't believe it's the 24th already," she said. "You must be bored out of your mind."

The Doctor pushed his cup to one side, resting his clasped hands on the table. Clara could feel the entire booth vibrating as he bounced one knee in a staccato rhythm. "The TARDIS completed her repair cycle last night," he said. "But she still won't let me in."

"You'll have to make it up to her somehow."

"For what?"

"For hurting her feelings. You did call her lazy the other day." When she looked back at him she couldn't tell if his expression was doubtful or thoughtful or a combination of the two.

"Hey, you know what would be fun?" she said, changing the subject. "Since it's Christmas Eve and all?"

"I'm not sure I want to hear this," he said. "Lately, your idea of fun has turned out to be not terribly fun in the end."

She ignored him. "We should buy each other a Christmas gift, what do you think? 'Tis the season and all that."

"I don't have any money, Clara," he said. "And you've already bought a coat, a round of drinks and two strawberry milkshakes."

"Don't worry about it." Already feeling more energized, Clara slid out of the booth and shrugged into her coat. "Come on, I'll show you what I have in mind."

* * *

><p>"Here it is," Clara said. "Poundland."<p>

The Doctor looked up at the blue and yellow sign. "What exactly is Poundland?"

"The concept is pretty simple," Clara said, swinging her bag to the front and rummaging through it. "A shop full of poorly-designed, cheaply-produced rubbish but everything is priced at a pound." She pulled a crumpled note from her purse and pressed it into his hand.

"If it's supposed to be a gift for you," he said, "You shouldn't have to use your own money."

Clara turned him toward the shop entrance and gave him a gentle push. "I don't care," she said. "It's a pound. Go shop and I'll meet you back here in about an hour. Enjoy yourself." He entered the store cautiously, flinching backwards from the bright lights and blaring overhead music, and Clara followed.

She wandered the aisles, letting her hand trail along the edges of the displays. She didn't have a particular gift in mind, but she'd know it as soon as she saw it. She heard the Chicken Dance song blaring suddenly from two aisles away, and laughed, feeling the first hint of holiday spirit she'd felt for a while. She knew it had to be him. With his inability to keep his fingers from any available button or switch, musical greeting cards must have been too much to resist. He really was nice to have around sometimes.

* * *

><p>Clara bounced slightly on her feet as the Doctor looked over the present she'd chosen for him. She loved giving gifts but she didn't know how he felt about receiving them.<p>

"Interesting," he said, turning the cardboard tube in his hands. "Is it a telescope?"

"Not exactly," she said. "Go on, look through it." She flapped her hands at him when he turned it toward her. "No, not at me. Look at something colorful or bright, like that Christmas tree over there."

His fingers delicately twisted the cylinders in opposite directions and his expression of puzzlement gradually changed to one of delight as he studied the tree.

"It's a kaleidoscope," Clara said. "What do you think?"

He lifted it toward the sky next, where a light snow was beginning to fall. "It's fascinating," he said. "The angle of the mirrors and these little bits of colorful plastic in the case are producing the..."

"No, no, no," Clara said, interrupting him. "Don't tell me how it works. I knew you'd do that. Sometimes you need to take in the wonders without having to name them or understand them. You just...appreciate them."

He stood quietly for a moment, then startled visibly and reached into his coat pocket.

"I nearly forgot," he said, passing her a small carrier bag imprinted with the shop logo. "Your gift. I didn't wrap it."

"I didn't wrap yours, either," she said. She hefted the bag by the handles. "Oooh, it's heavy." Clara reached in, her fingers closing on a smooth, rounded object. She lifted the black, half-spherical glass shape free of a layer of tissue paper and looked up at him quizzically.

"It's a paperweight, I think," he said. "Or some sort of weapon. Might come in handy at school either way."

Clara held the glass form in her hands, studying it closely. Against a deep indigo background, tiny points of light began to wink and a nebula of bright stars danced along one edge.

"Where did you find this?" she asked, her voice hushed as if they were standing in a church and not on a busy street corner.

"Poundland," he said, turning his back to her and focusing the kaleidoscope on a nearby traffic signal. "It was that or a six-pack of pot noodles."

She ran one finger over the wavy glass, and at the touch of her hands, a supernova flared and disappeared in the center of the weight.

"I may have tweaked it a bit," he said.

"That wasn't part of the deal," she said, cradling it close to her chest. "But I love it. Thank you, Doctor."

She smiled up at him, thinking he looked adorable with snowflakes decorating his fluffy grey curls. "You're going to tweak the kaleidoscope later, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," he agreed, tucking it safely away inside his coat.

The Doctor held out his arm for Clara to take and she grabbed it tightly with both hands. She rested her head against his shoulder for a moment, enjoying the little oasis of space in the bustling crowd around them, the snow quieting the surrounding noise.

"Takeaway and telly tonight?" she suggested as they began to walk away. "And we can decorate, look." She opened her bag, showing him the strand of lights she'd purchased.

"Fairy lights?"

"For the TARDIS," Clara explained. "She'll look beautiful."

**A/N: Another late one, I'm sorry. I apologize if I got the details of Poundland wrong but I assumed it was very much like our Dollar Tree chain here in the states. ****There is one more chapter on the way, but it might take a few days because it just wouldn't be Christmas for me without a family crisis. At any rate, I hope you're having a wonderful holiday with family and friends and loved ones and if you don't celebrate, hang in there and it will all be over soon.**


	6. Merry Christmas

"So, tell me again why we're on our way to Gloucester." The Doctor spoke from the jump seat where he was sprawled comfortably, using his sonic screwdriver to adjust the kaleidoscope.

Clara sat on the floor opposite him, checking the contents of the bag she'd packed that morning: Danny's present, wrapped in patterned paper and a little round bundle, double-wrapped in foil.

"When I found you in the kitchen at 3 am attempting another figgy pudding," she said. "I knew we had to get you out of my flat before you lost your head and went completely domestic."

"Turned out okay this time, though," he said.

"The figgy pudding?" She gave the bundle a poke with one finger. "Yeah, still doesn't look like anything I'd care to eat."

"But you brought it along."

"We'll be there in time for Christmas dinner. Someone might enjoy it."

Clara leaped up for the third time since they'd set out and circled the console, fiddling with the displays although she didn't really understand the maps and graphs and coordinates. She let her hand trail along the controls, feeling the pulse of the TARDIS underneath her fingertips, matching her own heartbeat, her spirits soaring with the sensation of flight.

"Clara, sit down," the Doctor said. "You're making me nervous and I can pace with the best of them."

As she stepped away from the console, the TARDIS gave a jerk and Clara stumbled sideways. The Doctor leaped from the jump seat, catching himself against the edge of the console while the TARDIS shuddered to a stop.

"I think we're here!" Clara said, running to the door. She threw it open then pulled her head back in, glancing over her shoulder where the Doctor stood double-checking the coordinates.

"It's trees," she said. "It's nothing but trees. I can't tell where we are."

She heard the rapid clicking of a keyboard. "Still on Earth," he muttered. "Gloucester. Time period is a punt. You'll find out soon enough."

He looked up from the console controls, his eyes taking in the snow-covered woods outside the TARDIS.

"White Christmas," he said.

"Yes, good-o," Clara said. "That's marvelous, especially since I'm not wearing winter boots."

"Those things on your feet look very much like boots."

"Chelsea boots," she explained, lifting one leg to show him. "No treads. Can't you get us any closer?"

"Not without attracting unwanted attention." He strode over to the door, scanning the area quickly. "The main house is about 500 metres south, along the path. I doubt you'll get frostbite before you reach it."

"Well, c'mon then."

He scoffed and turned on his heel, moving away from the door.

"I'm not going, Clara."

"'Course you are," she said. "Think I'm leaving you all alone in your TARDIS on Christmas day?"

"There's a book I've been meaning to read," he said, "And I really should recalibrate the gyroscopic stabilizer, the landing was a little rough, don't you think?"

Clara caught only a glimpse of his back as he took the stairs two at a time, hurrying toward the upper walkway.

"No, I didn't. And I'm not taking no for an answer, Doctor," she called out to him.

He hung over one of the railings, directly over her head, and she leaned back to look at him.

"Out there," he said, gesturing vaguely, "There are children who are probably very sticky and loud, and P.E. who is probably very cheerful and jolly and...and _festivities_." He disappeared into the gloom of the upper level again. "I'm not going."

"Oh, Doctor," she said, sighing in resignation. "You make it all sound about as much fun as a root canal."

"Yes, excellent suggestion, I do have a molar that's been giving me some trouble, " he said. "Toddle along, I'll see you later."

Clara stepped out into the woods, one hand shielding her face as she looked up toward the brilliant blue sky just visible through the frosty treetops above. A fresh, thin layer of snow crunched under her feet. A few steps from the door she felt herself starting to fall. Her arms reached out, finding nothing, and she landed hard on her back, air escaping her lungs with an audible sound. She lay stunned for a moment, watching birds flitting in and out of the branches, and then her vision was obscured by a mass of grey hair and worried eyes. The Doctor lifted her to her feet, gently brushing snow from her back.

"Clara, did you hurt yourself?"

She shook her head and took a deep breath. "No, I'm okay, I think. Just knocked the breath out of me." She took a hesitant step, testing the path and felt her foot skid again. "But you're going to have to help me."

He made an impatient noise and clicked his fingers. The TARDIS door swung shut behind him and he bent to retrieve her bag from where it had fallen. He slung it over his own shoulder and Clara gratefully took his proffered arm.

They trudged through the woods along the path, the air crisp and sharp. Animal tracks of fox, squirrel and mouse crossed and recrossed the path. Clara had learned them all as a girl and she took great pleasure in pointing them out to the Doctor while they walked, although he seemed distracted and disinterested.

The walk ended at the edge of the woods, the main building a short distance away across a large white expanse. A sign in front read _West Country Children's Home_.

"This is the place," Clara said, chewing one lip thoughtfully. Now that the choice was in front of her, she felt hesitant. Maybe Danny didn't want her here after all, maybe it would be an intrusion, too personal of a glimpse at his own past.

"You can you make it the rest of the way," the Doctor said.

"Oh no, you don't," Clara said, gripping his arm tightly just as he started to pivot away from her. "You've come this far and you're going to say hello to Danny so he doesn't wonder how the hell I got here and you'll be polite to the kiddies and try not scare them and …." She stopped talking, frowning as she took in his appearance. He stood with his arms tightly crossed over his chest, shivering in the cold air.

"You're not wearing your coat," she said.

"I didn't think to grab it."

"Because you were rushing to help me," she said. "Well, that's it. You need to come inside and warm up. No arguments."

* * *

><p>They stepped into a modest entrance hall, cheerfully decorated, with garland twining on the banister and evergreen boughs arranged on the mantel of a huge brick fireplace.<p>

"There you go," Clara said, pulling an armchair over and placing it to the side. "Stay here until you thaw out," she said. "I'll be right back."

The Doctor ignored the chair but did stand a little closer to the crackling fire, stretching his hands out toward the warmth.

To the right of the entrance, in a large room with floor-to- ceiling windows, she found Danny, dressed up as Father Christmas, standing in front of a towering pine covered with handmade ornaments.

Clara moved to one side of the doorway, into the shadows where he wouldn't see her if he glanced over. She didn't want to interrupt as he handed out gifts, speaking with each child in that deep, gentle voice, taking his time, listening carefully, giving a touch on the head or shoulder or a hug if needed. She wished her own spirit was as generous and loving. Sometimes she wondered what he saw in a brash, bossy loudmouth like herself.

She waited until the last child had accepted a gift before approaching him.

"Anything in that bag for me, Santa?" she asked.

Danny whirled around, the confusion on his face quickly changing to delight. He made certain no children were watching before he scooped her up in a hug.

"Clara," he said, "I wasn't expecting you."

"I know, Danny. I'm sorry, " Clara said, her voice muffled against his shoulder "I should have called or…"

"No, no, don't apologize." He stepped back and grasped both of her hands in his, his eyes taking her in before he spoke. "I'm just happy you're here. What made you change your mind?"

"I missed you," she said.

"And I missed you," he said, "But I thought you were spending Christmas with a friend."

"I did," she said, "I am. He brought me here."

Danny's gaze shifted from Clara and his smile quickly faltered. She turned to see The Doctor moving toward them, long legs carrying him quickly through the room, hands jammed into the pockets of his hooded jacket..

"Oh, it's Santa's crankiest elf," Danny said, when he reached them

"Hello, P.E. I like the white beard, you should consider keeping it."

"Will you both try to play nice?" Clara said.

"Happy Christmas, Doctor," Danny said, extending his hand. "Thank you for getting Clara here safely."

The Doctor opened his mouth to reply but his attention was drawn toward a little girl who hovered nearby, staring at him with huge, dark eyes.

"You have lovely hair," the girl said suddenly, her serious tone matching her expression. There was no question who she was addressing, her gaze unwaveringly fixed on the Doctor.

"Do I?"

"Hmm." The girl walked behind him and his eyes immediately sought Clara, begging for rescue. Clara remained silent, waiting to see what would happen, feeling more than a little amused.

"Yes," the girl said after she'd made a complete circuit. "It's a bit messy, though. Didn't your mother brush it for you this morning?"

"I brush my own hair."

"Well, you didn't do a very nice job."

The girl stepped forward and took his hand in hers. Clara saw him twitch, like he wanted to jerk away, but as the girl tugged insistently, leading him forward, he began to follow along after her. As he passed Clara and Danny, the Doctor reached out and grabbed her shoulder.

"Clara," he said in an alarmed whisper. "I don't really like children."

"You'll be fine," Danny said. "Ruby will take good care of you."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"Ruby's gift was a brush and comb set," Danny explained as they watched the Doctor being led away. "She's been dying to try it out on someone."

Ruby indicated a spot near the window where a brilliant pool of winter sunshine spilled across the floor. It seemed a hundred children were shouting and shoving and playing elsewhere in the room, but in this relatively quiet corner, the Doctor took a seat, hands resting on his knees, back straight and unnaturally stiff. As Ruby began to work an ivory-handled brush through his hair, his expression changed from outright terror to resignation to a strange sort of peace, his stiff posture relaxing noticeably, shoulders dropping. Ruby continued her work, taking it all very seriously, and the Doctor's eyes started to drift shut.

Danny laughed. "'I think he's enjoying it."

"Tolerating it at least," Clara said. "I'll have to remember this the next time he's grumpy."

Out of the corner of her eye, Clara caught the tiny frown that always indicated displeasure. She gave Danny's arm a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

One little boy joined Ruby and the Doctor glared at him, muttering something out of the corner of his mouth. The boy laughed then, a delighted sound that cut through all the other commotion and he plopped to the floor directly in front of the Doctor, propping his chin in hand.

One by one, the other children, curious about this stranger, wandered over to have a look.

"I should do something," Clara said. "He's going to frighten everyone and that will never do on Christmas."

"They're not frightened, Clara, look." The children were sitting quietly, rapt expressions on their faces, listening intently while the Doctor spoke, hands moving gracefully while he related some story. Ruby had finished her ministrations and was now sitting close to the Doctor, staring up at him with undisguised adoration.

Clara frowned when he mimed unzipping his forehead, his wonderfully expressive face suggesting the horrible monster inside. The children shrieked and recoiled and one boy shouted something that sounded like "Slitheen," punching the air with upraised fists.

"Who or what is a Slitheen?" Danny asked.

"I'm not sure I want to know," Clara said, but she had to resist the urge to join the throng of children in front of the Doctor. He'd have to tell her the story later, that's all.

"It's good to hear them laugh," Danny said, smiling warmly down at Clara. She looped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest.

"I'm glad we came," she said.

"Almost dinner time," Danny said. "So what will it be, Miss Oswald? Kitchen duty or the serving line?"

"Kitchen duty. And let me fetch the Doctor, he can help. He's a dab hand in the kitchen as long as you keep him away from open flames."

Danny caught her arm as she turned. "No, leave him, they look like they're enjoying themselves."

"Yeah," Clara said, taking in the scene. "They do don't they? It's almost sweet."

"'Almost sweet?'" Danny said. "What are you talking about? It's so sweet I can feel a cavity coming on." With another loud wave of laughter from across the room, Danny shook his head. "I think this Doctor of yours could grow on me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And while everyone is otherwise preoccupied…"

He steered Clara to one side, into the doorway of a darkened room, tugging gently at the end of the fake beard. When it slid past his chin he lowered his head to hers for a quick, gentle kiss. She sighed, resting her hands against his chest.

"Merry Christmas, Clara," he said.

"And to you, Danny Pink."

**(A/N: My thanks to everyone who read this little bit of holiday fluff! Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. This chapter turned out a little longer than the others and ended up full of Danny Pink, thanks to englishsongbird on Tumblr who was responsible for giving me some post-season Danny feels. All the best to you in the new year! And if you're really curious about Clara's present to Danny, it was a cashmere scarf in navy blue, because Danny would always buy utilitarian items for himself, not luxurious ones. Clara is the best at choosing presents.)**


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